Drunk and Disorderly
by skag trendy
Summary: Happy belated birthday to Criminally Charmed. Enjoy, babes! A drunken Dean makes a terrible mistake. Set directly after ELAC Season 2. Warning for language and violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Drunk and Disorderly**

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_**Happy belated birthday to Criminally Charmed. Enjoy, babes!**_

_**A drunken Dean makes a terrible mistake.**_

_**Set directly after ELAC Season 2.**_

_**Many thanks to Phx for all her wonderful advice.**_

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Sam glanced at his watch for the fifteenth time then closed the lid on the new laptop. It was a gift from Bobby to replace the one damaged in the car wreck.

The computer was brand new, faster, bigger, more memory… Sam shook his head, sadly.

He should have been ecstatic with the shiny new toy, but it merely served as a reminder to everything he'd lost… _was still losing._

Following a quick stop at Bobby's to pick up yet _another _car, the brothers had moved on to their next gig pretty much straight after killing the clown, and _boy_ was that ever the weirdest case. Sam's fear of clowns was finally faced, brought down and defeated.

Dean's anger had reached flash point, with his beloved Impala taking the brunt of it, and Sam's little speech had no doubt been the trigger. He'd heard it all that day in the yard; each strike of the tyre iron, each dent and tear, a soundtrack representing his older brother's inner turmoil.

Dean's temper plus tyre iron was not a healthy combination, and Sam wondered if it was only a matter of time before _he _became caught in his brother's crosshairs. And maybe, just may be, _Sam would let him._

In fact, he'd already invited it more than once in the hopes his brother would find some kind of release for his grief. If that meant a black eye and broken nose, then that was just fine by Sam.

Whatever it took to put Dean back together. Sam would do it.

But it was now two am.

_Where the hell is he?_

Sam sighed and slipped on his boots. A drunk Dean, seething with anger, needed the kid glove treatment, and Sam was particularly practiced at it.

The motel being rundown, cheap, and downright sleazy as it was, the brothers had only been issued with the one key, so Sam grabbed the lock pick set and headed on out.

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"S-ssorry... 'scuse me..." Dean didn't so much walk out the bar, as bounce his way towards the exit, body slamming anyone who got in his path.

His brain was in a blissful state of alcoholic haze... and the stars were _sooo preeettyyyy..._

A large bulk blocked those stars... and his escape.

Huh.

Not stars then.

_Lights?_

Dean squinted up at the mountain.

In all honesty, he was rather impressed. It wasn't often he met guys this... _mountainous. _

Not ones so big they blocked out the recess lighting, anyhow.

Yeah.

It was one of those kinds of bars. The kind that tried to go up market when the state's smoking ban came in but failed drastically, mainly because a wooden shed in the middle of nowhere was never gonna attract the sort of clientele that _didn't_ smoke.

_Unless they were on fire..._

Dean's giggle at the thought meant that Mountain Man's non-existent smile stood an even shakier chance of forming.

"You cheated me at pool, mate!" The dull boom of what sounded like a London accent reached Dean's ears, and he squinted up again with a stupid grin.

"Heeeey!" Dean's grin was now accompanied by a matching stupid voice. "I kn-knoowww yoooou! Ain't you on-oneofthe... waassstheycalled?" He blinked and squinted again. A light bulb went on in his fuzzy head, and the grin returned with the usual wattage. He raised a finger and poked it gently into Mountain's chest. "The Krays!"

Dean began nodding frantically, somehow not noticing the rapidly growing anger on the guy's face. "Yep. S'you. Youreoneof 'emalright....which twin _are_ ya, huh?" Another squint, followed by a _swwaaayyyy._ "An' I'll bet you're related to fucking _Ronnie Biggs! _All a little ince...incesst...uh... you guyssss are all rrrrelated...rrright?_"_

The bar, not exactly the hive of activity, a place where most people liked to lay low, content to live in the shades of society, fell deadly quiet. It wasn't often someone came along and fucked up so thoroughly.

Several people left the bar altogether, the threat of a fight and the possible resulting police presence just too much. But others stepped forward with interest, eager for the unfolding entertainment.

It was at this point that Dean's internal warning system, which had been trying to attract his attention all night, finally got through. In part, it was due to the strange sounding accents, the odd reference to _right! We're gonna do the bastard fucking __**over**_**, **but, mainly, Dean was slowly figuring out that the few beers he'd drunk were rather stronger than usual. And came with weird flavours and even weirder names, like _Theakston's Old Peculiar_, and _Adnam's Broadside._

But now... _now_ that he was pinned up against the wall with Mountain breathing down his neck, and calling him _mate_ and _fuckwit_, Dean realised he'd actually strayed into an _English_ bar!

_Shit!_

"You little baaarrrrstard," Mountain rumbled menacingly, accent heavy on the _aaarrr_. "s'Krays was my _great uncles!_"

_Double shit!_

And the _double shit_ was confirmed by the number of angry London _what're __**you**__ fucking lookin' at?_ expressions bearing down on him from the bar crowd.

Dean, often a prideful man, and in part disagreement with the Krays' culture, also knew when it was time to play nice.

Sometimes it was just best to cut your losses.

A sudden friendly grin lit up his face.

"Dude! That's soooo cool!" An arm snaked round Mountain's shoulders. "'M just _dyyyyying_ to know all about 'em..."

As per usual with the Dean Winchester Charm on full power, by the end of the night, Mountain – who later introduced himself as Nigel – had revealed the entire life history of his family, dating back beyond the 1940s, and any thoughts of cheating were long forgotten.

There was much talk of family, and what it really meant, the hurt, the love, but most of all, Dean learned one thing from Nigel.

"If ya brover's pissin' ya off, my advice is a concrete dunk," Nigel had raised his glass of Jameson's in a vague drunken toast. "S'what I did..."

Dean almost staggered back in shock, instantly sober. "Y-you... killed you're brother? By burying him... in _cement?_ Dude! What the fuck's wrong with you!"

"Nah... nah nah nah, mate," Nigel, gesticulated wildly in a 'know what I mean' manner. "I never killed the little shit... luv 'im too much for that..."

Dean heaved a sigh of relief too soon, however, because Nigel wasn't finished.

"I just buried the little fucker up to his neck for a few days." He chuckled lightly. "He never went near my missus again, let _me_ fuckin' tell ya!"

"Ooohhh....okaaayyyy..." Again, Dean's relief was short-lived.

"Mind you, me best man sure had that wrecking ball comin' to 'im after I found out about 'er and 'im the night before the wedding some years later..." Nigel tilted his head to gaze unsteadily up at the ceiling with a happy smile. "And there's _nothing_ like a good bonfire, eh?"

Dean nearly choked on his drink.

"...then there's the acid, after all, fire don't get rid'f _all _the evidence..."

Some hours later, Dean staggered back to the motel room, fumbled with the key, muttering fondly about _generous Londoners buying all the damn drinks, damn fools,_ let himself collapse on the bed, and fell fast asleep before his head hit the pillow.

It never even registered with him that the room was short by one Winchester, that the bed farthest from the door was empty.

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All Sam knew, after hours of searching for his big brother, after picking the lock and opening the motel room door, was a terrible pain in the back of his head.

Maybe he struggled; maybe he put up a fight. But it was doubtful he'd remember.

And that was it.

Lights out for Sam Winchester.

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Dean snorted into his pillow.

A wriggle, another snort, and his inner alarms were sounding again.

Someone was trying to break into the room.

_Click._

He twitched.

_Click-click._

An eye opened, sluggishly.

_Clunk!_

Dean was out of bed in a flash, pressing against the wall behind the door...

_Sqqqquuuueeeeeeeaaalllll.... _the door opened.

And the butt of his Taurus was coming down hard on the dark shadow's skull with a muffled _thump._ The intruder let out a harsh, pained grunt in response and fell silent, limbs twitching helplessly.

But Dean didn't stop there.

He kept up the relentless pounding until long after the figure stopped moving, and liquid warmth splashed over his face and neck... and then he switched on the light...

"Oh my God... Sammy?"

Dropping into a crouch beside the injured youngster, Dean's mouth gaped open, eyes practically bulging out of his face; his little brother was a mess, sprawled unconscious on the carpet, blood pulsing from a deep laceration to his forehead. But there was worse to come when he rolled the kid onto his back.

"_Jesus! What the hell have I done?_"

The side of Sam's head appeared caved in and his hair was matted into a bloodied clump. Two fingers to the kid's neck revealed a worryingly sluggish pulse, and the shallow rise and fall of his chest offered no comfort either.

Dean gently slipped one arm under Sam's knees and the other under his back

"Sam?" whispered Dean, watching his face anxiously, and, with a loud grunt, lifted him up and onto the nearest bed. "Sammy? Please, kiddo, open your eyes for me."

Sam remained silent and still, limbs splayed out helplessly on the mattress.

Cradling the kid's head and leaning in, his mouth hovering over Sam's ear, Dean spoke softly, trying to rouse him.

"C'mon Sammy, wake up now. M'not gonna hurt ya, I swear it," Dean grimaced at the sticky feel of blood in Sam's hair, and tried a more threatening approach. "Wake up, _now,_ or it's the ER for you, little bro."

It didn't work, unsurprisingly. Dean shook his head in despair and reached for his car keys on the night stand. He'd only been asleep an hour or so before nearly bludgeoning his kid brother's brains out, but now he was sober as a judge.

Dean hefted Sam up and over his shoulder, the kid's long arms flopping and dangling in the process, and strode determinedly from the room.

Once he had his little brother settled in the passenger seat, Dean raced back inside and headed for the bathroom. He emerged a few seconds later, a damp washcloth in hand, locked the motel room door behind him, then slid in to the driver's seat beside Sam.

"All right, Sammy," Dean reached over and gently tugged the kid down until his head rested in the older brother's lap. "Let's get you some help."

Applying the washcloth to the devastation on the side of Sam's head, Dean turned the key in the ignition, listened to the low growl of the engine, then pulled away from the curb.

A small whimper had Dean whispering gentle encouragement and a brief glance down as they glided under a street lamp revealed Sam's pinched features, eyebrows drawn down in pain.

"S'ok, Sammy," Dean tried to sound reassuring, but in truth he was scared witless. He'd already lost so much, if he lost Sam too...

Dean shuddered at the thought. He was well aware of the cruel manner in which he'd treated his younger brother of late, knew there was no excuse for the defensive walls or the lock downs whenever the kid tried to talk to him. Sam stood by his brother's side, watching his back, keeping him from falling apart, and in return for his loyalty and devotion he received a cold shoulder and all the insults Dean could throw at him.

He deserved better.

Sam's head rolled to the side on a pained groan and Dean's eyes watered in sympathy.

"Yeah, I know it's hurts but it'll all be better soon," he whispered then bit his lip virtually bloody, eyes anxiously scanning ahead for signs to the ER. Dean's gut rolled and pitched like a fighter jet when his hand encountered fresh blood spilling from Sam's head, and just in time. Rounding a bend in the road, the bright welcoming lights of the local hospital flooded the night and Dean sighed in half hearted relief.

Another whimper and Sam's breathing picked up, mouth gaping open in distress.

"Shhhh, kiddo. ER's right here," said Dean and he eased the car gently to a stop. Pushing Sam back up in his seat, Dean pretty much flew out the driver's side, leaving the door wide open and scrambled round to his brother's. The kid slumped sideways as soon as Dean wrenched open the passenger door; he caught him neatly, holding him close and tenderly brushed a lock of soft chestnut hair out of Sam's eyes.

"Ok, here we go, Sammy." Dean shifted then rose slowly, straightening his back and lifting the kid up against his chest. "They're gonna take you away for all kinds of tests, but I'll be nearby the whole time, I promise. Just hang in there, buddy."

Heart pounding with fear, moving as fast as he dared, Dean carried his brother inside the ER, and placed him in the care of complete strangers.

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His hands were still shaking two hours later. He told himself it was down to the effort of carrying his gargantuan brother to safety.

After all, the kid was six foot four, around two hundred pounds of solid muscle, brain the size of Peru, and a heart of solid gold.

_Yeah, that's all it is, _thought Dean, sarcastically._ He's just heavy._

"Mr Anderson?" A young male doctor with thinning blond hair and a shitty attitude called out from a set of double doors. Dean stood up and bit his tongue. No way was he going to risk being turfed out for stuffing a stethoscope up the guy's ass. He wasn't going to do _anything_ that might impede seeing Sam. So he smiled coldly and inclined his head.

"How's he doing?" his question was clipped, sharp and to the point. _I really don't like you._

"Fractured skull, severe concussion and blood loss," the doctor's answer matched perfectly. _Likewise, pal. Likewise._

"Uhuh. He's gonna be ok, though, right?" Dean allowed an element of true worry bleed into his tone, but the medic just narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Dean had no idea what he'd done to piss the guy off and really didn't care…

"His _attackers,_" the doc stopped, leaned against the wall and folded his arms. "Sure did a number on him, huh?"

Judging by the way the word _attackers_ rolled off his tongue he clearly didn't believe Dean's story.

But that was ok. The cops hadn't either, but they had no way of disproving it.

But now Dean was getting the picture. Sam's doctor somehow, someway, knew the truth.

Or certainly suspected.

The story of Sam stumbling into their motel room, bleeding from a bad head wound and babbling incoherently just didn't seem likely. The kid hadn't regained consciousness since Dean took to playing baseball with his head, and the doc had obviously seen the evidence for himself. No way would Sam have been able to walk back to the motel, let alone speak, given his injuries.

Dean stared at him, meeting his gaze without a flinch. He felt a sudden surge of respect for the guy; he was only watching out for Sam, something Dean hadn't been so good at of late.

"Look," he relaxed his stance a little. "I know how it sounds, ok? But you don't know the kid like I do."

Guy wasn't buying it.

"Oh yeah?" Doc pursed his lips and tilted his head in consideration. "Go ahead. Do tell."

"Could we maybe find somewhere a little more… private?" asked Dean, glancing around the waiting room. It was virtually empty but Dean wasn't going to risk going public with the truth.

The medic paused, then nodded. "Ok. My office…"

They walked in an awkward silence until the doc stopped by an open door. "In here."

Once they were seated, the guy didn't mince his words.

"So, you gonna come clean?"

Dean sighed. He didn't have the energy to lie, and keeping silent wouldn't do Sam any good.

"He was probably out looking for me," he began, slumped back in his chair and stuffed both hands into his jean pockets. "Our Dad passed away a few weeks back and I…" Dean huffed and closed his eyes for a second, seeing Sam's sad face flickering in the firelight as John Winchester's shrouded body burned. "I guess I just haven't been coping like I should. Ya know?"

The doc – Dean lowered his gaze to read the guy's name tag: _Michael Bailey_ – nodded, his expression softening a little. Young he might have been but he wasn't naïve and he wasn't without a heart; his patient's brother was clearly at the end of his tether, grieving and in pain.

"Sam's been there for me the whole time, and I…" Dean couldn't continue, just shook his head and grimaced when a lone tear escaped and rolled slowly down his face. "No matter what I say or do, no matter how badly I've treated him, he sticks around. Sammy's a good kid, but he deserves better than me."

Michael remained silent. He was a great listener and keeping quiet often encouraged people to talk.

"I was out at the local bar, getting drunk as usual," Dean sniffed and swiped at his eyes. "When I got back to our motel I didn't even know Sam wasn't there. Just fell asleep. An hour or so later someone was trying to break into our room…" he shrugged. "I jumped him from behind, knocking him out… and carried on hitting. I just lost it… and th-then I t-turned on the light…"

Michael drew in a breath, and let it out slowly. "I _see._"

Dean blinked away more tears and focused on the young doctor. "Do you? Do you really? 'Cos I sure didn't." His voice grew hard, self-deprecating. "Not until I turned on the light and realised I'd just damned near beaten my little brother to death. He's all I got left, and if he doesn't survive this then that's it for me." Dean nodded, his movements jerky. "I'm done."

Michael studied his patient's older brother for a long moment before coming to a decision. He didn't need to ask why Dean had lied to the cops. Had he told the truth, the guy would have been cooling his heels in a cell hours ago.

This Dean Anderson was a liar, a conman and quite possibly a thief, but that wasn't all Michael Bailey was getting from him. One of the attributes that made him so damn good at his job was his ability to read people. He could tell if someone was lying, hiding an injury or faking, whether a patient was taking something they shouldn't, and he could sniff out a time waster with frightening ease.

Dean Anderson wasn't all he seemed. Sure, he'd bullshit the law in a heart beat, but he wouldn't put his kid brother at risk by lying to his doctor.

No, Dr Bailey believed this heartbroken, guilt-ridden mess, sitting across from him, was telling the truth. Tonight was a terrible mistake which very nearly ended in tragedy, and Dean's only real crime was over reaction.

_We've all been guilty of that, I guess._

Michael got to his feet. "C'mon," he said, quietly. "Let's go see your brother."

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_**Author's notes:**_

_**For those of you not familiar with English modern history, the Kray twins were the **__**perpetrators of **__**organized crime**__** in **__**London**__**'s **__**East End**__** during the **__**1950s**__** and 60s, and were reported to have socialized with the likes of Frank Sinatra, Judy Garland, and various politicians. It is also rumoured that various members of the cast of the Carry On films were close friends of the brothers.**_

**_To this day some argue that the twins were brutal, evil and vicious; others claim they at least did a better job than the cops at keeping the streets safe at night. Hence Dean's ambivalence, given his attitude towards law enforcement in general._**

_**Ronnie Biggs was famous for his involvement in The Great Train Robbery of 1963.**__** His great niece is a close friend and colleague of mine.**_

_**Cheers my darlings. Hope you've enjoyed this so far. Only one more chapter, so get those reviews up!**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Drunk and Disorderly**

**Chapter 2 and epilogue.**

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The first thing Dean noticed was the heavy bandaging round Sam's head. The blood had mostly been cleared away, only a few thin streaks still remained to torment the older brother with his transgressions.

"I've kept the lighting as low as possible, in case he wakes up," Dr Bailey spoke softly. "Sam's gonna have a bitch of a headache as it is."

Dean glanced up at him. "He _will_ be ok, right?" he gestured to the oxygen mask. "What's that for?"

"Your brother had a little trouble with his breathing when he came in, and his oxygen sats were on the low side," the doctor responded, immediately. "But he's stable now. We'll probably take him off that in a little while, once he's woken up."

Michael finally let a slight smile slip out. "I'm fairly confident there won't be any long term damage, though he'll need plenty of rest and care, no stress and lots of peace and quiet. Skull fractures are nothing to mess around with."

"Oh, don't you worry," Dean countered with a soft, sad smile of his own and carefully took one of Sam's cool, limp hands, squeezing and tenderly rubbing the flesh. "I'll make sure the kid takes it easy."

Doc Bailey watched the brothers for a few minutes, before quietly taking his leave. His presence was no longer required; Sam didn't need protecting. He just needed his big brother.

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"Guess what, Sammy?" Dean watched over his unconscious little brother with bright, hopeful eyes. "I found a great place for us to take a break. Beach front, nice and private, fully stocked kitchen, and even an observatory on the roof. See? Got something for geekboy, huh? So you can, like, spot UFOs at night, or whatever…" his voice trailed off when Sam winced and frowned.

"Sam?" Dean lowered his voice. "You with me now, kiddo?"

Sam's mouth suddenly fell open under the oxygen mask, his breathing quickened and morphed into desperate gasps and moans.

"Sammy?" Dean's eyes widened. "Sam, what's wrong?"

Sam began trembling harshly, eyes scrunched shut, hands curling into tight fists.

"Sam!" Shouting, panicked, _terrified_, Dean pounded on the call button when the trembling turned into full on convulsions, Sam's bandaged head thumping against his pillow, limbs flailing and catching on the bedrails.

"Goddammit!"

Dean lowered the railing, leaned over the bed and trapped Sam's wrists. "Sorry, kid," he muttered, and watched helplessly as the seizure continued. There was nothing else he could do until the doc arrived; just keep Sam from hurting himself.

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Dean watched anxiously from the doorway whilst Dr Bailey examined his brother. The kid had been heavily sedated a few hours ago, placed on an IV cocktail of anti-seizure medication, and given the state of his oxygen sats it looked like Sam was going to be wearing the oxygen mask for a while longer.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, heart heavy with worry for his little brother.

The boy's skin was unnervingly pale, even the flesh of his hands seemed washed out. If it weren't for the rise and fall of his chest, Dean could've sworn he was dead.

_Jesus!_

He swung round and paced to the water fountain along the hallway. After gratefully swallowing a few mouthfuls of cool water, Dean closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

_C'mon. Now's not the time to lose it…_

"Dean? You ok?"

He opened his eyes again in time to see Dr Bailey steady him with a hand on each shoulder. He hadn't even known he'd been swaying.

"Uh… yeah. Just… uh… this is all a little… overwhelming," replied Dean at last, though the doc didn't look convinced. The last thing he wanted was medical attention, so he quickly changed the subject. "How's Sammy doing? What _was _that?"

Doc Bailey eyed the guy with a frown. Dean was going into shock and desperately needed a break.

"Sam's just fine. He had a seizure. It sometimes happens after brain trauma, but the medication's working well for him," Michael pushed Dean into a plastic seat. "Wait here, ok? Don't move!"

He made it back from the waiting room dispensing machine in record time, but even so wasn't surprised to find the seat empty and Dean back in Sam's room.

"Here," the doc didn't bother to mention it, just handed the older brother a Styrofoam cup of hot, sweet tea. "Drink this. And then we're going to the staff canteen." He waved a finger under Dean's nose when he looked like he was about to protest. "If you wanna sit by your brother for the rest of the night, then you're gonna eat. Last thing I need is another patient on my hands."

"M'not hungry," Dean murmured, gentle palming Sam's bandaged head. "I can't leave him like this. If he wakes up all alone… I-I'll never forgive myself."

"Dean…" Michael began but stopped, sensing a futile argument on the approach. "Ok. I'll bring something back with me, but you _will_ eat it."

"Uhuh," said Dean, not really listening. His attention was somewhere more important. Sam's eyelids were fluttering lightly, and Dean heard him whimper softly from behind the mask. "S'ok, Sammy. You can wake up now. M'not gonna hurt you again."

Sam's eyes slowly opened to half-mast, and the kid winced in pain.

"Hey! Look whose back!" the older brother leaned over Sam, shielding him from the dim lighting.

Licking his lips, Sam blinked lazily up at Dean, eyes unfocussed and dazed, and let out another whimper of pain. His mouth formed words but nothing coherent came out, and the youngster began to panic.

"Uuuggghhhhh…"

"Take it easy, kiddo," Dean was smiling down at him, eyes soft, warm and welcoming. Sam hadn't seen that on his brother's face in way too long; it touched a tender part of him, a place that still ached with loss but he couldn't remember why. His head felt like someone had thrust a knife through it, and the throbbing was bordering on unbearable. Panting out short breaths, Sam's eyes filled with tears. Dean's smile was gone in an instant, remorse and sorrow taking its place.

"Aw, Sam, don't cry. I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry…" gentle hands brushed through his hair.

Sam stared up at him in tearful bewilderment.

"Dnnnn…" again with the incoherency. Something over his mouth and nose was muffling his voice, making things worse.

Dean nodded and gave him a watery smile. "Yeah, it's me. I'm gonna take care of you. Gonna help you get better. Don't you worry 'bout a thing, Sammy."

Sam's eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings, but it was mostly a blurred mess of shadows. He reached up with a shaky hand and tried to scrabble at the _thing_ over his face, but Dean gently restrained him.

"Nuhuh, Sam," he chided, softly. "You need to keep that on for now."

Sam just blinked at him. He felt so lost and confused, had no idea what was happening or who the other guy was, the one in white standing behind Dean…

"Sam? Can you hear me?" the strange guy spoke this time and moved round to the other side of the bed. Sam's gaze followed him until his face came into focus. "I'm Dr Bailey. You were admitted to this hospital with a severe head injury. Do you remember what happened?"

Sam's eyes just slid shut on a small sigh, drifting away whilst a low murmur carried on above him.

"Is it normal for him to be so out of it?" he heard Dean ask, sounding worried.

"Sam's just a little loopy from the medication," came the soft answer. "And he's bound to be disoriented from the injury. Just give him time…"

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Sam spent the next few days drifting in and out of consciousness. One moment staring sleepily up at his brother's smiling face, and the next sliding away on a wave of sheer exhaustion. He still had no idea where he was or what he was doing there, but at least the _thing_ over his face was gone, replaced by a tube hooked under his nose.

Dean chatted to him, not seeming to mind the one sided conversation, and Sam felt comforted by it. His eyes never left Dean's face whilst awake, afraid to lose him, and at first he couldn't figure out why it worried him so much. But eventually, fleeting images of Dean on a strange bed, in some strange looking room, a tube wedged in his mouth, clued him in.

_Something happened to him…_ but Sam couldn't figure out what.

_Maybe Dad'll tell me…_ and something about that thought caused a terrible searing pain in his heart. He tried to stifle a sob, but Dean must have heard him, because the next thing he knew his brother was perched on the edge of the bed, hands gently cradling Sam's face and whispering urgently.

Sam stared at him helplessly and tried to talk.

"D… Daaaaaad?" came out as an embarrassing croak.

The effect was instant. Dean's mouth snapped shut and an unreadable expression came over his face. Sam held his breath, wondering what he'd done wrong.

He tried again, a little more desperately this time.

"D-d… Daaaaaad? H-heeeere?"

Dean blinked back tears and sniffed loudly. "No, he's not here right now, Sammy. I'll call him later, ok?"

Sam stared at him again and nodded slowly, finally beginning to understand what was being said. "Uhhhuh."

"How you feeling?"

Again, Sam nodded. "Mmma h-head huuurrrttts…"

"S'ok, buddy. You're due some more pain meds anyhow…"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

A few more days passed before Sam was able to understand a little more of what was going on around him. The fuzziness in his head was gradually clearing, and he was even able to stay awake for longer than five minutes at a time. He still felt confused and sometimes even frightened, but Dean was always there to keep him calm.

But mostly, Sam just slept, too worn out to do much else.

Memories were seeping back. Terrifying memories of blood, pain, black eyes, Dad shouting, _yellow eyes…_

_Time of death, ten forty two._

Sam woke up and gasped loudly, tears running down his face

"Dean… wh-where's Dad?" he stuttered out.

Dean's car magazine hit the floor and he was up out of his seat, wrapping Sam in his arms and rocking him gently. "Sam…"

"Dean… m-my dr-dreams… Dad…" Sam sobbed softly into Dean's neck.

The older brother just sat there, stroking his hair, fingers brushing over the bandage. There wasn't much he could say. Sam had to know sooner or later, but Dean was reluctant for _sooner._ Fortunately, his little brother came to it all by himself.

"H-he's dead, right?"

Dean froze. The world seemed to halt on it's axis for a few seconds, until he began breathing again.

"Yeah, Sammy," he said, quietly. "You found him on the floor, and the doctors… they just couldn't bring him back. We built a pyre for him, remember?"

No answer. Sam shivered in his brother's arms.

"Sam?"

"Y-yeah," the kid ground out, voice hoarse with emotion. "I remember."

Then in a complete turn about that surprised even Dean, Sam sat back and wiped at his tears. "Uh… when can I get outta here?" he said, sounding a little more like _Sam._

Stubborn, determined and more than a little sullen.

Dean suppressed a sigh. "Not for a while yet. Not with a fractured skull, _and _you had a bad seizure a couple days ago."

"I'm f-fine," stated Sam, mouth set in a mutinous pout. Dean nearly laughed out loud. Kid looked like a four year old demanding his candy.

"Yeah, sure you are," he sneered, lightly. "And I'll just bet you can stand up without swaying, right?"

Sam mumbled something that sounded like "won't know 'til I try" and looked away.

Dean bit his lip. There was a question he was burning to ask but wasn't sure it was the right time. It would have been so easy to lie and cover it up, but that wasn't fair to Sam.

"Sammy," he began, gently, and waited until he had his brother's full attention. Dazed blue-green eyes turned his way, reminding him the kid was still pretty sick. "Do you remember why you're here?"

Sam blinked slowly. "Uh… no. I j-just assuuummmed I got injured onna hunt?" he slurred. Kid had tired himself out again.

Dean winced when his brother's statement turned into a question.

"Yeah, well. That's not how it happened," he answered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "We'd just _finished _a hunt. And we had a fight… a-about Dad and I decided to spend the evening in the bar just down the street… I was pretty wasted when I got back, and I didn't know you'd gone out. I woke up when it sounded like someone was trying to break into our room, and I got a little… uh… _enthused._"

Sam's mouth dropped open in shock. He might have been concussed and drugged up to the gills, but that wasn't going to stop his galactic-sized brain from putting two and two together.

"_Y-you?_" he uttered in disbelief. "_You_ did this to me?"

The room fell silent at Dean's hesitant nod, and Sam's sluggish mind processed the fact his big brother, only living family and best friend, had nearly tenderised his head like a piece of sirloin.

"I'm so sorry kiddo," Dean stared down at his hands, fiddling nervously in his lap.

But Sam's reaction wasn't quite what Dean expected.

Sneaking a peek at his kid brother, Dean frowned. "Sam, are you laughing at me?"

"Nope," Sam grinned. "Not much, anyhow." he snorted softly. "Only you, Dean. Only you!"

"S'not funny! I nearly killed you!"

"Right. Not funny." Sam clicked his tongue and snapped his fingers. "Gotcha!"

Dean stared at him in amazement. "You feelin' ok?" and immediately understood the stupidity of that question. _Yeah, with a cracked skull? Gimme a break!_

"M'fine," Sam replied, and immediately passed out into his pillows.

"Damn, kid." Dean swore softly, and set about pulling the blankets up to Sam's chin. He didn't quite understand why, but Sam had forgiven him. It was more than he could ask for, far more than he deserved.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The Winchesters sneaked out of the hospital at the end of Sam's second week, when the kid threatened to abscond if Dean didn't get him the hell out of there. And it was no mean feat, smuggling a woozy, injured sasquatch out from under the watchful gaze of Dr Michael Bailey. With some regret, Dean at least left a note of thanks on the nightstand for Sam's doctor and nurses alike.

He'd also managed to grab Sam's anti-seizure medication and pain killers before leaving. Sending up a quick prayer that Sam _hadn't_ been diagnosed with epilepsy – a miracle given how hard Dean had hit him – and the meds were only for the short term, the brothers made their escape.

Sam was sitting in the passenger seat, leaning against the door, reminding Dean of the night he dragged his little brother's ass into hospital in the first place. He kept glancing over at the kid, worried about the permanently glazed-over eyes and pale complexion.

True to his promise, Dean had in fact found a beach front home for the duration of Sam's recovery. It belonged to a rich business woman Dean and John had helped out whilst Sam was in college, and she was only too happy to return the favour.

It _had _crossed his mind to head back to Bobby's, but the doctor's orders included peace and quiet; not something they'd find at a busy salvage yard, especially with Dean's continued obsession with re-building the Impala.

The rebuilding of Sam had to come first.

And so, after an eight hour journey, the boys arrived at a beautiful and isolated beach bungalow.

"Hey, Sammy?" Dean gave him a gentle shake and grinned when the kid listed sideways, upper body landing heavily against Dean's shoulder. The older brother just managed to cushion Sam's fall in time with one hand cupped under his head, then carefully pushed him upright. "C'mon, kid. Wake up."

"Huh?" Sam slowly came round, blinking heavily. "Wha? Where… we?"

That confused and lost little boy was back, tugging on Dean's heart strings and making him smile again.

_I promise I'll take better care of you, Sammy._

Dean got out of the car and hurried round, feeling his brother's eyes on him. Yanking open the passenger door, he crouched down and leaned across to unbuckle Sam's seat belt.

Sam kept watching him, those sad, watery eyes blinking slowly, his mouth opening and closing as though he had something to say, but was too afraid to speak. The kid's chin dropped and he stared down at his lap when Dean rocked back on his heels.

"You ready to move, Sam?"

"Uhuh," Sam's whisper was so faint, Dean could hardly hear him.

"Hey, Sammy, look at me," Dean was beginning to wonder if heading straight back to Bobby's hadn't been such a bad idea after all. Sam was out of hospital way too early and Dean wouldn't have minded having another pair of hands available just in case.

"Huh?" Sam peered up at him from underneath all that hair.

"What's wrong, kid?" Dean studied his pale complexion, and swallowed the knot of guilt from seeing the thick gauze taped to the side of Sam's head.

"Uh… do… doyouhateme?" it came out in a rush, leaving Sam a little breathless. "D-didDadhateme?"

"What?!" Dean barked out, making his little brother flinch. "What the hell would make you even ask that?!"

Sam was beginning to panic, and little wonder. He was trapped in the passenger seat by the big brother who not so long ago tried to bash his brains in.

_Nice going Dean. The kid is _definitely _out of hospital too soon._

"Uh… well… 'c-cos you s-said…" Sam mumbled, eyes downcast once again.

Dean cleared his throat and softened his tone. "What, Sam? What did I say?"

"T-too little… too late…" Sam's voice broke on the last word, and tears glistened on his face.

"Aw Sammy…" Dean tugged the kid into his arms and just held on. "I could never hate you, kiddo. You're all I got left. And Dad loved you. Don't you _ever_ think otherwise, you understand me? Ever."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

And that was all that needed to be said.

Sam sniffed and buried his nose in Dean's neck, feeling like a child awakened from a nightmare, and not caring.

Dean closed his eyes and smiled. It _so_ took him back around twenty years, and gave him the perfect ammunition against his brother once he was feeling better…

…except…

The poor kid was exhausted, still recovering from a bad concussion, in pain and overly emotional. Dean didn't think it would be fair to hold this constant supply of chick flick moments against him. If anything, Sam had earned a lifetime's worth.

Or, at least, the time it took for him to heal.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**The End.**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

_**And another ELAC fic comes to an end. As always, pay no attention to medical scenes. All made up purely for the sake of plot, I assure you.**_

_**Cheers my darlings.**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx**_


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